Princess for Hire (2 page)

“Hey, it was the best costume I could find online. I mean, besides the gorilla. But I figured that would scare the kids. If only they’d had a decent chicken—”

“I just…Isn’t there a way I can do something more proactive?”

Drake poked through the employee fridge and popped open a Mountain Dew. “Tell you what. Stick it out a little bit longer and maybe at the end of the summer we could discuss moving you up to Fish Tank Cleaner.”

I knew he was trying to be nice but…Fish Tank Cleaner? Spend the next two months pushing coupons and
maybe
I’d be upgraded to Pond Scum Engineer. Yeah, living the life of glamour. Big Idaho dreaming.

“Thanks. But that’s not really what I meant.”

Drake sighed. “I know. All right.” He moved closer and flicked off the lights. “You’re obviously having a hard day, so I’m gonna show you something special.”

Uh…they’d warned us about this in the employee orientation video. “Look, Drake, I don’t feel comfortable with you…uh…”

He didn’t say anything for minute, just stared at me funny before bursting into laughter. “You thought…Oh, come off it. You’re way too young for me. Really, a fetus. Besides, you’re not my type. I mean, you’re too tall and skinny and I usually like a little meat—”

“I get the point.”

Drake flipped on another light. The fish tank in the break room glowed. “But seriously. Look. This is what I wanted you to see.”

“It’s a fish tank.”

“Dude. Look again.”

I stepped closer. I’d never thought about it until then, but it was kind of weird that Drake kept a fish tank in here, where customers couldn’t see it. It was decked out with all the creature comforts—a treasure chest, cottage, neon plastic seaweed, and a waving SpongeBob figurine. The fish were unique too, iridescent with neon stripes snaking through their fins. The purplish-blue light pulsed right through them.

“It’s a wishing tank.” Drake sprinkled fish food with reverence.

“Um…”

“Believe it. It’s true.”

I scooted away. The only thing worse than being alone in a cramped room with a skeeze is being alone with a wacko. “What? What makes you think—”

“It works? Easy. We’d just gotten these fish in, special delivery from Guam. And I was feeding them, thinking how much I’d like a girl from Guam, or”—Drake rubbed his nose—“um…any girl, really, when this hot chick walks into the store, shopping for a dog.”

“And?”

“And I helped her buy one. And got her number. I mean, I never called it—she was too hot to be real—but I keep it in my wallet.”

“Point?”

“Dude,
obviously
she was my wish come true. So I bought the fish myself. And it’s changed my life. I’ve got an interview for head manager coming up. And my band booked three gigs last week at Antonio’s Pizza. It would have been four, but Thursday is karaoke night.”

“If they’re so special, why are they in the break room?”

“I can’t take them home because I don’t trust my roommate.” He shivered. “Sushi eater.”

I kneeled down and pressed my face against the tank. “How does it work?”

“Well.” Drake scratched his head. “I don’t know exactly. I feed them and make a wish. But since they just ate…” Drake fished a handful of tank rocks out of the pocket of his black jeans. “You can try these. It might only work for me, I don’t know.”

“Thanks.” I picked a few rocks from his outstretched hand. “I mean, yeah, maybe I’ll try it out later. If I think of it. Now, if it’s okay, I’d like to use the bathroom before my break ends.”

Drake paused in the doorway. “All right. But I want you smiling when you get back to work. People can sense your smile, you know, even behind the suit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“And hey, do you still want to pick up some extra hours at the parade tomorrow?”

I had not once, in my six weeks of employment, passed up an extra shift. An extra shift could buy five blank T-shirts. “Can I do something besides wear this suit?”

“Sure. I told my brother—he works for the city—I’d hook him up with some extra horse…shovelers.”

“You mean pooper-scoopers.”

“Yeah.”

Of course.
“I’ll have to give it some thought.”

Drake nodded solemnly and closed the door.

I squeezed the rocks. A wish tank. Oh boy. I’d always wondered if Drake was on some kind of drugs, and now my suspicions had been confirmed. Although, the chances of Drake’s luck changing without cosmic intervention were slim. I’d heard his band. They stunk.

I stared at my reflection in the fish tank and pushed my ash brown hair away from my still-blotchy face. Maybe I should cut bangs to cover up the big forehead I didn’t even know I had until Celeste so kindly pointed it out. I needed to get rid of the braces too, but I still had ten months to go, and eighth grade started in two. And I only had thirty-six dollars in my non-college savings account—hardly enough to give my wardrobe a much-needed shot of glam. Even if I looked like Audrey Hepburn, which I
so
don’t, next year was not going to be much easier than the last.

Thanks to Celeste’s sabotage, I was a social bottom feeder. She made her life this big sob story, lied and told everyone I’m evil and a backstabber and who knows what else. And everyone believed her because she’s Celeste.

And I’ve always been kind of different anyway. I don’t try to be, I just am. I listen to big band music instead of country, watch old movies instead of MTV. But even more, I’ve always felt like there was this…pulse, this
bigness
in me, like I’m permanently hyped up on caffeine or sugar. The buzzing grew and dimmed with my moods, but the feeling was always
there
.

I guess that’s why I was anticipating this next year so much. It was a chance for a fresh start. But that would all be spoiled now that Celeste was probably texting everyone my new nickname, something epically unoriginal like Ditzy the Chipmunk Girl.

A fish stared at me from inside its little fish cottage. Magic. I wanted to believe it, if only until my break ended and my groundhog head went back on, a weighty reminder of who I was.

Or wasn’t.

Because I was vapor. Can you get any more invisible than that? Well, I guess complete nothingness would trump vapor, because vapor is still a state of matter. But it’s a gas. It floats around, dispersing everywhere and nowhere. It’s not a solid.

It makes no impact.

“Impact,” I said in as solid a manner as I could muster. It was a modest enough desire—not a new pony or a million dollars. Just to be that girl that others wanted to be around. To be seen with. To know. “I wish I was the kind of person who made an impact. Like Grace Kelly. Minus the car wreck.”

It was stupid, but I snuck a blue rock into the water and glanced at the closed door. All the old Hollywood starlets had it. You watch those movies even now, and their magnetism fills the screen. I mean, even a girl in Idaho decades later understands the last look Ingrid Bergman gave Bogie in
Casablanca
. So much in just a look.

If that’s not impact, I don’t know what is.

“Well?” I asked the fishes.

In response, they kept on swimming. One snatched some lingering fish food from the surface.

And nothing else happened. Obviously.

I was still vapor.

“Desi!” Drake called. “I think some of the cats are sick. Grab some paper towels and cleaner.”

I glanced at the remaining rocks in my hand. “And if I don’t get the impact part, I could at least use a more glamorous job.”

I gave the rest of the rocks one more squeeze and dropped them in. A fish smiled from the doorway of its sparkly, green castle. Can fish smile? Man, I was losing it. A flurry of green bubbles escaped from the castle tower, floating to the top until they pop, pop, popped.

Chapter
3

W
hat I love about my dad: when he picked me up from work that afternoon, he took one look at my still-puffy eyes, and without saying a thing, drove straight to Taco Bell and ordered me two burritos and a gordita with extra baja sauce.

What I don’t love so much:

“How was work? Did you listen to your boss? Prove yourself to be a model employee? Did I ever tell you I was Employee of the Region at the shoe store I worked at in high school?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” Or every day. Why does my dad always have to go off on his values like that, especially when I’m obviously upset and the last thing want to discuss is my future employment goals? It made my burrito taste like shoes.

“So?” Dad eased out of the drive-through, his hands at the ten and two position. He’s the only person I know who actually follows the school speed zones. When school is already out for the summer. Just in case.

I shoved some gooey, beany goodness into my mouth and shrugged. “So what?”

“Either you’re allergic to your groundhog suit, or you’ve been crying. Bad day?” Worry flashed across his face. “You didn’t get into any sort of trouble, did you?”

“Work was fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Well then, what’s wrong, Princess?”

“Please don’t call me that, Dad.”

“What? Princess? But you’ve always been my princess.” Dad stopped at a yellow light. The car behind us swerved and honked. He turned around and waved. “What is everyone’s hurry these days?”

I squirted some hot sauce onto my gordita. “I’m not a princess, all right? More like the palace stable cleaner. I wear a groundhog suit and my forehead is big and Celeste Juniper is such a…Basically, I’m vapor—”

“Vapor? Desi, what are you
talking
about? You don’t really think of yourself like that, do you?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

“First off, you are the most solid girl I know. And I’m sorry you’re experiencing fallout from that trial, but convicting Celeste’s very guilty dad was the right thing to do. It’s sad his choices negatively impacted his family, and, I guess, you too. But
I
didn’t have a choice. I had to do my job. I had to do what was right. You can understand that, can’t you?” The light turned green and Dad resumed his careful navigation of the only six-lane street in town.

I did understand. But no one else seemed to. It reminded me of a poster my history teacher had hanging up in her classroom that said “What is right is not always popular, and what is popular is not always right.”

You know what? I should design a new T-shirt tonight.
BEING RIGHT IS
OVERRATED
.

After we got home, I ran upstairs with the intent to veg. Like, go into a coma, although that wouldn’t be much different from my job, because standing around in a costume is like doing a zombie impersonation anyway. Mom had gone
compulsive
on my room. After digging my design sketches out of the trash, I unmade my bed and kicked at the carpet’s perfect vacuum lines, my small attempt to make my room look inhabited, because that is the
point
of a bedroom.

After I arranged my pillows into a perfect heap, I switched on my favorite movie,
Roman Holiday
, about a princess who takes a day off. Amazing movie, except for the end, which makes me cry, so I always turn it off early and invent a better ending, usually with more kissing. Anyway, while Audrey Hepburn rode a Vespa through the streets of Rome (tough life, right?), I flipped through my new issue of
Teen Vogue
: The Royals Edition. There was a delicious picture of Prince Barrett of Fenmar in there, although it would be hard for him not to look delicious with his long and lean body, Scandinavian features, and self-assured smile. I cut it out and added it right next to an old shot of a shirtless Paul Newman on my Wall O’ Awesome Things. I liked to mix some new pics with old
Life
magazine covers I found online. It took up half my wall and drove my mom NUTS.

When I’d had enough daydream therapy, I picked up the phone to invite my friend Kylee Malik to my whineand-cheese party (hold the cheese).

“Desi! Oh my gosh. I’m so glad you called,” she said in one excited breath.

“Hey to you too. Why are you so giddy?”

“There’s a new boy! From New Zealand. In Sproutville. His name’s Reed, and he’s a year older. My mom talked to his mom at the farmers’ market. They’re here for some agricultural research thing. But, Desi. You have to see him.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Not yet. Actually, I only saw him from far away because I was at the tomato stand, but if his up-close matches his far-away, then there will be much call to rejoice. Like, hallelujah-angels-singing rejoice.”

“Oh, well, congratulations.”

“Congratulations? Okay, you aren’t excited enough. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, sort of. It’s…it’s Hayden.”

“Oh. Hayden.”

“I saw him today.” My voice cracked. “With Celeste. And Celeste took my head off and…and…” I choked back the tears. “And Hayden saw me in that stupid groundhog costume, and now I have no chance. Plus, Miss Teen Queen Idaho is going to totally blab about this and next year will be even worse than the last two. Seriously, I wish you could have seen his face when she de-headed me. I’m done.”

“All right. Deep breaths. You can get through this.”

I tried to smile through the hysterics. Kylee and I had only started hanging out when she’d made a joke in English about
West Side Story
and no one laughed but me. She’d always intimidated me a little—she’s super witty and practically a master clarinetist. Plus, she lived in Seattle until last year, which automatically upped her coolness factor. Her parents are from India, and in a town as white as Wonder Bread, she’s too different for the high-maintenance girls (or HMs, as we call them). Unlike me, though, she’d rather eat Winston’s dog chow than hang out with them.

Anyway, I kind of mentioned I liked Hayden one day, and once it was out and I actually had someone to talk to, I couldn’t stop. But she’d listen, so I hoped next year we’d break into that next level of friendship—where everyone refers to us as “KyleeandDesi,” and we can’t wait to tell each other about every life detail. It’d been forever—well, two years to be exact—since I’d had that.